


I'll Meet You Here

by predictaslash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, M/M, Marriage Treaty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Stiles can’t really savor it as much as he would like mostly because his heart feels like it might start hurting soon.  “Oh.  OH.  You were joking.  Me, too, heh.  What a jokester I am.”</p>
<p>AKA, An Entirely Too Decent Proposal</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Meet You Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I start rereading old Snarry fics. The trope marriage treaties/contracts/bonds get made into Stiles/Peter. Title from an Elliott Smith song.

Peter Hale is a creep. And selfish. But he’s a helpful, selfish creep. He’s bailed Stiles out of more situations than he can count because he is a collector of the ultimate treasure: knowledge. And he seems to like, or at least be amused by, Stiles enough so that he’ll help him from time to time with questions pertaining to the supernatural. He doesn’t think much of Scott, but he tolerates him enough to help Stiles help Scott on his constant quest to be the ultimate True Alpha who watches over Beacon Hills like it’s Gotham and he’s a rich orphan with a lot of great gadgets.

Sometimes Peter Hale appears as if out of nowhere with just the right information at just the right time, but more often than not, Stiles has to make the trek out to the giant Hale House on the giant Hale Land on the giant Beacon Hills Nature Preserve and walk up to the front door and square his shoulders and somehow _always be surprised_ when the door opens before he can knock. Even though he knows they’re all werewolves and love to abuse their powers to make teenagers jump. Well, not only teenagers--Stiles just turned twenty-one two months ago.

“What do you want, loser?” Stiles sighs. He likes Cora, he really does, but she’s a broken record and never smiles and he just needs to get past her because she knows what he wants, he’s there to see Peter like literally every other time he’s been over.

He should have his own key by now and an open invitation to Peter’s office.

But.

But Talia Hale, Alpha and Supreme Leader of the Hale Pack, does not appreciate the McCall-Stilinski pack one bit. She doesn’t agree with Scott thinking it is their duty as supernatural creatures to police all of the other supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills (which, you know, _beacon_ , so there’s a lot of weird shit going down here all the time). She doesn’t think their pack is mature and subtle enough to not get everyone killed by hunters. And she certainly doesn’t like the rag-tag group that is the McCall-Stilinski pack.

One alpha werewolf. Two beta werewolves, one with a predilection for scarves in the summer and one who maybe at one time was a murderlizard who murdered. One banshee. One human hunter. One human hacker. And, finally, one human with kind of a Spark of Almost Magic. It’s a group made for a heart-warming underdog sports romp.

Talia Hale has made more than one comment about how a pack should be more wolves than not. And the fact that there’s an Argent in the pack is even worse. Stiles finds it all very speciesist and also Allison shouldn’t be judged because her aunt tried to set the Hales on fire once (well, actually twice, but the logic still stands).

Cora loves their weird pack as much as she loves anything (which means only that she hates them slightly less than other people). Derek generally broods in silence and doesn’t have much to say. Stiles has never met Laura, who lives in New York. Daniel, their patriarch, is nice, but completely under Talia’s rule. Aunt Anne Hale visits a few times a month and is generally just okay.

Peter will actually talk to Stiles and treat him like he matters, though. Like he’s all that matters, actually.

So, it makes sense that when Lydia comes to him with her proposal, he goes to ask Peter for advice. It’s an area where Stiles has little to no experience.

“What do you think,” he asks before he’s even fully in the room, “of marriages to unite packs?” He throws the book Lydia gave him on pack treaties down on the desk and watches as Peter carefully leaves his face blank. Peter will never give anything away when he can help it. Stiles kind of lives for the moments when the mask slips.

He responds with one word. “Elaborate.”

“So, uh, say you have two clashing alphas in one area that probably won’t end up mauling each other, but would benefit from sort of conflict resolution.”

“Purely hypothetical, of course.”

“Yep. So, to bring the packs together and prevent even bigger pissing contests, one person from one pack gets married to someone from the other. Then you have one big pack where you’re more like separate family units who see each other for holidays and family vacations.”

“And your question is?”

“What do you think of that?”

“As far as marriage proposals go, I would say this is the least romantic possibility I could ever imagine.”

“No, that’s not what I. I mean, okay, yes, kind of, but a) we’re kind of the most logical choice here and b) you imagined me proposing to you? and also c) you jumped ahead of me. I really just wanted to know more on the practical side of marriage treaties.” And there’s that floored, what-in-the-actual-fuck look that only Stiles can elicit from Peter, and even then, it’s quite rare. But Stiles can’t really savor it as much as he would like mostly because his heart feels like it might start hurting soon. “Oh. OH. You were joking. Me, too, heh. What a jokester I am.”

Peter absentmindedly taps two fingers against his chest to remind Stiles that his pulse gives away every lie. Peter is never distracted--this is quite worrying. All of that research and thinking about if he was willing to do this and honestly, hope, and it might end with him getting rejected by Peter Hale of all people.

Who does Peter think he is?

“Hey, pal, you would be lucky to have me as your treaty husband! I’m a fucking catch.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck you if you-” Stiles’s brain catches up with his mouth. He actually shakes his head to clear it like he’s a cartoon character who just had an anvil dropped on his head. “Wait. Yes, I’m a catch or yes, let’s get married?”

Peter smirks in his wouldn’t-you-like-to-know way and shrugs. “Why me? Cora and Derek are more age appropriate and just as available. Cora could give you offspring, which, as I’m sure you read, would only strengthen the ties between packs.”

Stiles feels a shudder go down his spine at the idea of marrying and spending the rest of his life with either of the broody sourwolves. “Cora would kick me in the balls before I finished asking, Derek would freeze up and turn red and dive out of a second-story window to avoid it. They may be single, but emotionally available they are not.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

“BUT more importantly,” and this is where Stiles has to take a deep breath and plunge in head first. “We get along very well and have shit in common and complement each other fairly well. Neither of us would take the other’s shit, which I find is very important in a relationship. When Lydia put this book in my hands, I knew immediately what she meant--she wants this for us, and I learned a long time ago that Lydia is never wrong. Well, maybe her devotion to Jackson, but he’s mostly almost decent now.”

“Drink?” Peter doesn’t wait for an answer, but goes over to the small, Mad Men-esque liquor cabinet in a corner of the office and pours himself something amber, downs it, then pours another. He keeps his back to Stiles, which is unnerving as all getout.

So Stiles walks over, right up behind Peter, slow enough that he can move or growl or stab him with his claws. Peter doesn’t move, however, but he does allow Stiles to reach around and take the glass from his hand and place it back on the tray on top of the cabinet. Continuing to operate around Peter, he reaches for the bottle and checks out the label. “This isn’t even spiked with wolfsbane,” he murmurs against Peter’s neck, watching the hair and flesh raise up as if straining towards Stiles, yearning for him.

“It does its job.”

“To hide your face from me?” Peter stays on the sidelines for self-preservation, not because he’s a coward. When he hears the challenge in Stiles’s voice, he slowly spins around in his arms, probably assuming Stiles would back off so as to avoid an awkward situation.

Well, fuck that, Awkward is Stiles’s first name. Well, it’s not, but it could be. I guess you’ll never know.

So, standing his ground, Stiles ends up almost nose to nose with Peter, who is intentionally letting his wolf ooze out of him: yellow-tinged eyes, slightly elongated and sharpened canines, a little bit of claw reaching out to ghost along his waist. “Ask me.”

Fair enough. Stiles takes a deep breath and begins with his specialty: Extemporaneous Rambling (it’s bought him a lot of time with witches trying to kill him and his friends). “Uh, Peter Hale, we have been through a lot together, first as snarky frenemies and then later as snarky friends. I think? Much like Angel, you appeared out of nowhere with cryptic information and saved my ass and then saved my ass some more. And also like Angel, you have great hair. Over the years, I have come to trust you despite, you know, all of my instincts, and you’ve only steered me wrong a few times when it was actually usually funny like that time with the fairies. And the leprechaun. And the unicorn. And usually it was at Scott’s expense, which is great. I feel like we understand each other, but most importantly, no one else could pull this marriage treaty off. Because no one else would be using the marriage treaty as an excuse to just get what they want. Together, we’ll be an unstoppable team, and along the way we’ll unite two stubborn alphas and have what I assume will be amazing, monogamous married people sex.” Stiles takes this moment to grab Peter’s hand and run the tips of his fingers against the tips of his nails. He stops at Peter’s left ring finger and traces a band shape on it. “Peter Hale, I like it and I want to put a ring on it. But, more importantly, you’ll be able to mark _me_ , you freak, both with a ring and werewolf-style. Will you marry me?”

Peter looks down at their joined hands and slides his fingers between Stiles’s, squeezes. Gives that little smirk as if he isn’t secretly floored/thrilled/shocked/ _happy_. Lets the silence linger a bit. “I thought you would never ask.”

Stiles drops his hand to put his hands on his hips with a look of complete exasperation on his face that he probably picked up from Mama McCall. “That’s not an answer, you utter-”

“Yes, of course.”

“Piece of sh-”

“Stiles.”

“-it, you just put me on the spot so that you’d have the upper hand and I _know_ this about you and _Lydia_ knows this about you and she sent me here anyway and-”

Stiles finally stops his rant because Peter actually puts both hands on his shoulders and lightly (werewolf lightly) shakes him. “Yes, Peter, I realize you said yes a few seconds ago, but if we’re going to be married, I can’t just let you get away with fucking around with me like you do.”

“You love it when I fuck around with you.”

A sigh, a groan. “You’re right. There’s something seriously wrong with me.”

“To my advantage, it seems.” Peter’s hands slide down from his shoulders to grip lightly at his waist.

“We’re not living here.”

“No, of course not. Wouldn’t want my poor nieces and nephew to overhear our loud, raucous sex.”

“So, I guess my dad’s is out, too.”

“Too many guns in case I get a little...carried away.”

“And the McCalls, well.”

“Isaac,” he and Peter say in the same dry tone at the same time and smile at each other a little too sappily for anyone’s comfort.

“So we’ll get our own place. Pack neutral territory where our silly alphas will have to follow our rules.” Peter nods along with this proposal while slowly walking Stiles backwards. When his thighs hit the back of the desk, Peter thrusts a little, causing them both to moan.

“Meanwhile, we can make do with my desk.”


End file.
